


Dis et Proserpina

by nerddowell



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (and yes that's a joke about bows and arrows), Bucky is Hades, Clint is cupid, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Hades and Persephone, I'm not even a little bit sorry, M/M, Natasha is Aphrodite, Steve is Persephone, Tony is Dionysos, slight dubcon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Cupid then loosed his quiver, and of all</em><br/><em>its many arrows, by [Venus'] aid,</em><br/><em>selected one; the keenest of them all;</em><br/><em>the least uncertain, surest from the string;</em><br/><em>and having fixed his knee against the bow,</em><br/><em>bent back the flexible horn. — The flying shaft</em><br/><em>struck Pluto in the breast.</em><br/>- Ovid, <b>Metamorphoses</b> V. 379-384</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dis et Proserpina

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed. Any and all mistakes my own.

There's a soft, cold wind billowing outside the window of the Brooklyn apartment complex. The rattling of tree branches against the window that it produces is what wakes Steve from sleep; draws him out of slumber with a groan of annoyance and a glare at the spindly fingers of wood rapping on the glass. It's unusual for him to awaken so late, but the sky is overcast and black with clouds, rain threatening, and without the sunlight to push through the slats of the blinds and stab him awake, he has slept in.

Steve yawns. He scrunches his nose up in distaste at his own morning breath, and rolls out of bed with a positively geriatric groan, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with balled fists. His mother is already out for work, picking up double shifts at the hospital where she's matron of the TB ward. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth its natural cowlick at the back of his head - his Ma describes it as him having been 'kissed by an angel' as a child; his best friend says it's more likely to be one too many knocks to the head - and stumbles blearily into the bathroom.

After he's pissed, showered, brushed his teeth and grabbed a glass of water to swallow his million-and-one pills with (he takes more medication than he eats actual meals, most days), he picks up his sketchbook and pencils and heads out to Central Park to draw. The day's gone from an overcast morning to a slightly less overcast midday, and there'll be plenty of late wildflowers and falling leaves to sketch now, with the seasons on the cusp of changing and September crisp as new apples in the air.  
  


* * *

  
Bucky ties his hair - thick, dark, unruly, with a curl he can't do anything about that flicks the ends artlessly around his face - back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, jamming his ever-present beanie over it and wrapping the thick scarf around his neck. Next are the gloves, a necessity to hide the gleaming metal plates of his arm, golden in the fluoro-orange underground lighting. He waves goodbye to the doorman, an incredibly sinister-looking, almost skeletal ex-con called Char who never removes his sunglasses, and steps into the elevator. Char watches him from behind his shades with a face like stone.

Char honestly gives Bucky the creeps a lot of the time, but he's the best damn doorman in the place. Nobody who's not supposed to be there ever gets in (or out, but that's another matter), and his dog, a German Shepherd with a serious aggression problem, is as hardcore in the line of duty as he is. Bucky has tried everything to make that dog even a little less... well, evil, but nothing so far has worked. Chew toys are ripped to shreds in one go right before his eyes; treats and those bone things are met with an _Are you kidding me?_ expression from the dog and a yellow-toothed smile from Char.

He shivers, rubs the back of his neck - a constant source of pain; the boss' high-backed chair always leaves him with a crick in his spine - and presses the 'open doors' button now that the elevator has reached the right floor - ground level, Brooklyn, New York.

Natasha, vibrant and beautiful as always in form-fitting red, emphasising her lush curves and matching the vicious, sensuous colour of her mouth, is waiting for him outside, Clint, as always, at her heel, bow in hand. He's reaching into his quiver before Bucky levels him with a glare that could total all of Manhattan and growls, "Don't even think about it, lover boy."

Natasha only smiles indulgently and links her arm through Bucky's as they set off down the street, away from the enormous glass and steel Olympos building. Bucky resists the urge to aim the finger at Fury on the top floor - as overseer and general CEO, Fury loves to make Bucky's life a living hell (ha!), and is always asking for the latest numbers and spreadsheets through. Bucky, as yet without an assistant, is currently millennia behind on paperwork, and Fury takes great joy in riding his ass about it. He resolves to text Iris, Fury's secretary, to ask exactly how much is owed when he remembers to give a damn.

Central Park is green and vibrant around them, with the leaves beginning to show the telltale signs of an approaching fall as the tips begin to curl in on themselves and the various branches bristle with sheaves of yellow and red. Natasha lets go of Bucky's arm as she gets distracted by something Clint is saying, and Bucky walks on ahead, more than used to it by now. He finds it a little creepy, sometimes, how close they are - somewhere between a brother-sister and a torrid, passionate romantic affair - but as long as he doesn't have to hear about it (much; Clint loves to wind him up), it's fine.

Bucky is walking along, minding his own business - in his job, he's incredibly good at that, seeing as he's disconnected from the rest of the company by a good sixty floors - when a guy with hair that gleams in the sun like gold steps out in front of him; a tiny, bespectacled guy in a too-big denim jacket with floral elbow patches and a pair of scuffed poppy-red Doc Martens on his feet. A sudden pain lances through his chest, a pain that blossoms into golden sparkles in his veins that washes his vision with tinges of pink, and he feels his whole heart leap inside his ribcage and _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he's going to fucking _murder_ Clint.

Right after he finds out what that blond guy's name is. Because he's the most beautiful person Bucky has ever seen; the most beautiful person in the whole world, he's sure, because there's a glow like the kiss of a winter wind in his pale cheeks and his eyes are the colour of the stars, and Bucky just wants to pick him up and take him home. He's not entirely sure it's such a bad idea, in fact, until the guy turns around and his eyes, taking in Bucky's appearance, widen, and he backs off like Bucky's threatened to kill his whole family.

Bucky - he is ashamed to admit - chases after him. Literally chases him, all the way through Central Park, to the sound of Natasha and Clint, and several of the trees, laughing. It's so fucking funny, after all, to see the stone-hearted Bucky Barnes sucker-punched (or rather, shot), by the laughing marksman, and sent skyrocketing head-over-heels in love with the first person he fucking sees. If he were thinking about it logically, Bucky would completely get why the guy is looking so terrified - why he's absolutely understandably one hundred percent freaked out by a scruffy, dark-haired maniac chasing him through the biggest park in New York - but he's not thinking logically. All he's thinking about is how the blond is like the roar of the sea in his veins, a warmth wrapped around him like the fake fires on the top floor of Olympos, and how all he wants is to know his name.

The guy eventually stops running, clutching his chest, in a small clearing where there are wildflowers almost literally sprouting under his feet with every step he takes. Bucky follows him with a poleaxed expression, eyes glassy, mouth open; he's always avoided Clint and his fucking demon arrows before, but now he understands why others chase after this feeling, grab onto it with both hands and fight to never let it go. It warms him from the inside out.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he insists, reaching his hand out to the blond, and the guy hesitates for a moment before nodding.

"It's just... it's a little scary having someone twice my size run after me like that."

"I'm sorry," Bucky says, all genuine regret and bright-eyed adoration, and the guy gives him a shy smile like sun breaking through clouds, and Bucky is going to murder Clint all over again (and Natasha, because he knows she put Clint up to this, but he also knows that she knows ways to kill a man with less than her bare hands, and he doesn't really want to mess with that) because he's got him thinking in stereotypes and Hallmark clichés, and the world feels like it's spun off its axis.

"Please. Let me take you for coffee to apologise."

The guy hesitates again, beginning to shake his head. "I really shouldn't... my Ma will be expecting me back, she, uh, she worries about me..."

"Only one, I swear. I won't..." Bucky trails off. He shakes himself briefly - get it together, you fucking idiot - and glances up at the blond through his thick, impossibly dark eyelashes (reliably said by Natasha to be irresistible) and tries to turn up the charm a little more. It's difficult, given that he's been nothing but insanely creepy so far, but it seems to work in that the blond softens like butter and gives a grudging nod.  
"Okay, but only a small one."  
  


* * *

  
Steve follows him - he doesn't even know the other guy's name yet, and somehow Creep That Chased Me Through Central Park doesn't seem fair to call him when he's been nothing but apologetic so far - back the way they came, past a snickering redhead and a brunette man sat on a bench. Their eyes are unnervingly fixed on himself and the Creep, with matching smirks curving their lips, and he sighs to himself. Maybe - definitely, he can hear his mom say in his head, he should call off the coffee. But he deserves this apology, frankly, and to be honest, it looks like it might kill the guy to be denied the chance to do so.

He's taken to a large steel building embossed with the name Olympos, Ltd., and is taken inside by a doorman in dove-grey, who smiles beatifically and asks him to sign in as a visitor. He says this with a strangely intense, disapproving look at Steve's companion, who shifts a little guiltily. More warning signs are going off in Steve's mind, but he's too intrigued by the building - its incredible architecture, somehow simultaneously both minimalistic and impossibly cathedral-esque grandiose - to focus. When he leaves his initials in the ledger he notes that another S. Rogers has signed in right above him, in uncannily familiar handwriting, but again, he can't place it.

Creep gestures for him to join him in an open elevator, and Steve agrees with a worrying lack of care. He compliments the building and its bizarre flying marble buttresses, and receives a crooked grin and sparkling ice-grey eyes in response. The elevator lets out a soft, smooth ping when they reach the correct floor, and Steve steps out of the carriage into a corridor that's so poorly lit he can barely see twelve feet down the way. A doorman, this time in black and with shades hiding his eyes, a snarling dog at his heel, greets him in a flat tone of voice.  
"Afternoon. And will you be joining us for long, Mr. Rogers?"

"Only for a cup of coffee."  _Although I'm regretting that decision slightly_ , he thinks, with a wary look at the incredibly lengthy corridor.

The doorman gives him a strange, terrifying smile. "I see. Well, _I_ shan't keep you."

Creep shoots Even Creepier Doorman a glare, and holds one of the doors - painted black, and marked Styx - open. The dog barks behind him as Steve slowly walks through, nerves jangling.  
  


* * *

  
"So what do you do?" the blond - Steve, Bucky has since learned, and the word bursts on his tongue like honey and mint, like ambrosia - and Bucky gives him a crooked grin.

"I'm in personnel. Well... Sort of. I catalogue... employees. Run the databases. Lots of computers." He sips his coffee - Steve hasn't yet touched his, and it makes Bucky's heart ache, a sickness in his chest at how badly he needs Steve to - to - "What about you?"

"Gardener," Steve answers quietly. "Well, gardener and general shop assistant, at a wholesale grocer's near the Park. My grandma used to run it, but she had to sell to new owners and it's only luck really that I've got a job there. My mom goes all the time, though - it's like the plants know her, it's crazy..."

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah! I mean, the owner, he's more into trying to make it a vineyard, he's been trying to buy extra land to expand the grounds and put in some grape frames, but I mean, it's Brooklyn and September, nothin' like that's gonna grow here, not for a while, anyhow..."

"What's the new owner's name?" Bucky asks, trying to make small talk. Anything to keep Steve talking, to get to know him better.

"Tony. He's okay, I guess, but he's... A little wild, you could say."

"Sounds a riot. A vineyard, huh? In Brooklyn? Good luck to him."

Steve laughs, a ripple of sound like bubbling water, like starbursts and flutes and the humming of bees' wings in the summer breeze, and Bucky feels his heart throb. Damn Clint and his arrows. He's looking at Bucky with warm eyes, though, warm eyes like the blush of rose wine behind his glasses, and he's ducking his head shyly and there's a glimmer in his expression that makes Bucky search, eyes narrowed, for Clint and another one of his mischievous pointy shafts of hell; but no, it seems that this coy, almost flirtatious glance is all Steve. Miraculously, Bucky has managed, _somehow_ , to not only properly apologise, but successfully flirt with this golden god in front of him.

Steve takes a sip of his coffee and his eyes go almost comically wide as he lets out a groan of appreciation. "Damn, what is that?"

"Black Forest Mocha," Bucky answers, picking up the jar of syrup off the counter to read the label. "Tony from our office drinks it all the time, he must have left it down here. I haven't tried it yet, figured you should be the guinea pig."

Steve grins, and takes another enormous swallow. "It's good. I'm not surprised he's so fond of it." He drains the rest of the mug before looking up at Bucky with wide, glowing blue eyes like summer skies. His lips are so red, and his breath smells of berries and chocolate, making Bucky want to hungrily lean in and lick the taste from his lips, swallow his tongue, drink every last essence of Steve in for the rest of eternity. It's impossible, he knows, but there's a beautiful sort of innocence to first love that he's intoxicated by, even more so than he is by Steve. "There's even cherries at the bottom! Damn, you know how to spoil a guy."

Bucky just smiles at him, and the smile grows as Steve eagerly plucks every cherry out of the bottom of the cup to bite into them, red juice running down his chin like blood, and he sucks it off the tips of his fingers, wrapping his pink tongue around each digit until they're spotless. He moans at their sharp, sweet taste, and Bucky feels like he's going to explode with happiness; Steve is beaming at him with soft, flowerlike eyes, cheeks warm and flushed, and his full lips slightly parted as he leans over the table and-

"Shit, my mom's gonna hit the roof - I'm so late back! I'm sorry, I've got to go-"

"I... Stay," Bucky pleads, reaching for Steve's hand and clutching at him. "Please, stay. You... you can't go."

"I have to, I'm late - I'm sorry, I can... I can come back..." _I don't want to go, but_...

"No," comes Fury's booming voice from the doorway, crackling with anger like electricity, the smell of ozone frying the air around him as he glares daggers at Bucky, "you can't go." He jabs a finger at Bucky, his glower stepping up a notch. "You," he snarls, "are in so much fuckin' trouble, I don't even know where the hell to begin. And you," he turns to Steve, now, with an exasperated expression, "have just made the biggest fuckin' mistake in your life. Haven't you?"

"I don't understand," Steve mumbles, confused, glancing from  Fury to Bucky and back, and Bucky just puts his head in his hands.

"Sit down," he murmurs. "I'll explain."  
  


* * *

  
Sarah Rogers bursts into the underground level of Olympos with a raging temper that sets even Char and the dog quailing. She demands Bucky's balls on a platter, in all seriousness, and Fury - from what Bucky hears of the argument outside - seems more than willing to give her them. _Deception by omission_ is thrown around a lot, as well as _kidnapping_ , _abduction_ , _my son is a good boy, he doesn't belong with your biker-boy hell-hound_ (a little unfair, Bucky thinks, especially as he's never owned a motorbike, nor a dog). She's raging, quietly steely, with a fierce anger like the freezing of winter, and he can only stare guiltily at her son and think _Oh, but he was so beautiful that I had to keep him..._

Steve, it turns out, surprises them all. Steve, fiery and passionate, standing up to his mother's frosty temper and arguing for his own autonomy. He blushes the colour of breaking dawn skies when he says it, but the moment it leaves his lips, Bucky - and Sarah - knows that Steve's mother can no longer argue. Steve likes Bucky (they can't call it love yet, not after only one coffee, but there's a glowing cherry pit in Steve's chest, already taking root, and Bucky is filled with the golden glow of Clint's arrow, and it's spreading through both of them like ambrosia, like nectar; they are gods in each other's eyes, and they will not be parted). Bucky clearly likes Steve.

The deal is, Steve spends half of his time, still, with his mother. But the other half of the time, he belongs all to Bucky, and they can drink Kirsch-infused coffee and lick the cherry stains from one another's mouths to their hearts' content. Steve argues that he's not a child to be fought over in a custody battle, but Fury - stolid and immovable as ever - won't budge on the matter.

Steve has tonight with Bucky, and the three days after with his mother. It's a compromise, but they make do. Steve tastes of cherries and chocolate, of coffee and contentment, when Bucky kisses him - at last - and they fall asleep that night wrapped around each other, Steve in one of Bucky's too-big royal purple sweaters and his head on Bucky's chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this myth is better known as _The Rape of Persephone_ , in the sense meaning 'abduction' or 'theft' rather than the modern definition which is pretty much exclusively sexual violence. There's definitely implied consent issues and therefore it's one of the myths that is heavily criticised from a modern moral standpoint - and I'm definitely not here to try and 'make it okay' or anything, but. The original story is what it is. Hopefully I made this version a little more palatable.
> 
> Essentially, Hades fell in love with Persephone and decided to kidnap her. The myth says that in one of the rare times he left the Underworld, he traveled above ground to pursue her, while she was gathering flowers in a field. One day Hades, God of the Underworld, saw Persephone and instantly fell in love with her. So he kidnaps her whilst she's picking flowers in a field, and then - depending on which version of the myth you read - either tricks her into, or she of her own volition, eats pomegranate seeds he gives her. (Eating food from the Underworld basically means you can't leave). Demeter, her mother, is very angry and pleads with Zeus to make Hades give her back, but because she's eaten the seeds, she can't return. Eventually they reach a compromise - six months with Hades in the Underworld, six months with her mother in the mortal world. Persephone **does come to love Hades** in every version of the myth I have personally read, but as with a lot of classical myth (especially in Greek myth, where women were seen as lesser), there is very little consideration for the female characters' standpoint and it's the men who the reader is supposed to care about.
> 
> BUT I'm rambling. The myth was basically a way for the Greeks to explain the seasons. The autumn and winter, when it's cold and all the plants (both Demeter and Persephone are nature/harvest goddesses) either hibernate or die, is when Demeter is mourning the loss of her daughter, when Persephone has to go back to her husband in the Underworld. But spring and summer are when Demeter has her back, so she's rejoicing and making all the world pretty with flowers and making the crops grow, etc.


End file.
